


perchance to dream

by kaijusizefeels



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, F/M, Inspired by Art, M/M, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love, pining!Napoleon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10173524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusizefeels/pseuds/kaijusizefeels
Summary: Napoleon had said goodbye to them last week.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bryonyashley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryonyashley/gifts).



> Inspired by this [ amazing photoset by bryonashley](http://bryonyashley.tumblr.com/post/157999468612). Not betaed. So sorry but me and words aren't best of friends.

Napoleon had said goodbye to them last week, after giving them a genuine Whistler, not that he told them, as a home warming present. The small house with the neat white picket fences sitting in the most defensible lot in the neighborhood. He can easily see the addition of a dog or two and maybe something more in the coming years.

They asked, of course, if he’d retire and buy a place nearby. But darlings, he said, can you imagine Napoleon Solo living in a small house with neat fences, and well-shorn lawns, the simple American dream of two ex-soviets. It’s a testament to how far Illya had come that he didn’t throw Napoleon out of the house after that.

Or maybe they just know him too well to be able to tell Napoleon from all his masks. He hopes not. The one thing that he doesn’t want them to know is that he would happily live in a small house with neat fences, doing his own yard work, and picking up his own paper from the driveway if Illya is there by his side rather than Gaby’s.

How selfish you are, Napoleon. Even his mother had said to him.

Selfish, and a liar.

Because it’s really two things. Two things that he doesn’t want them to ever know. The second being Napoleon’s voluntary return to the CIA conditioned on them helping UNCLE to secure Illya’s freedom from the KGB. Europe being still too close to the USSR, it had to be a new identity and a small house in America. Napoleon had suggested New York City even though he knows that it would not be for them.

His plan was to send the occasional postcards, more extravagant gifts for birthdays, and the most annoying squeaker toys he could buy for the dog they will surely get.

His.plan.was.

It’s a good thing that Napoleon had said goodbye to them last week because it doesn’t feel like he will survive the three bullets lodging in his gut. He didn’t even see the shooter this time.  
The floor is cold and wet and hard and smells of mold and worse things. He wish that he could be somewhere warm and dry. He’ll take hard, if hard means a solid chest propped behind him belonging to a tall Russian who smelled of home.

Napoleon feels rough hands touching his face and clothes, his shooter coming back to finish the job. He winces and sinks down more, obstinate until the end. Go away, he must have tried to say because blood fills his mouth.

_Don’t be ridiculous, Cowboy_ — says a voice that sounds of love. _Come on, Napoleon, follow my lead._

_And wake up._


End file.
